


worrying

by bestliars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Edmonton Oilers, M/M, New York Islanders, Teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestliars/pseuds/bestliars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not worrying about Sam is like pulling teeth. It isn’t easy, but sometimes it’s what John has to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	worrying

John turns twenty-three. The next day Sam gets high sticked and loses a handful of teeth in a game that doesn't matter. It seems like a bad sign.

John doesn't hear about it until the next morning, when he wakes up to a text from Sammy saying, "Don't worry, I'm actually fine," and another from Ebs adding, "He's going to be alright, don't freak out about it." These are not reassuring messages. He starts the third day of his twenty-fourth year worried out of his mind.

He can't call, because it's six-thirty in Long Island, which means it's four-thirty in Edmonton, which is too early. He opens Safari on his phone and starts searching for an explanation. Sam's name pulls up a dorky head shot, which John has to smile at, because that's his boyfriend's face, and his boyfriend is an unphotogenic dork.

Toggling over to news results doesn't help, the top hit is something about the rumor that Sam will be the Oilers next captain.

The search engine wants to autofill "Sam Gagner injury update," which makes John's heart clench, but is worth a try. Everything that comes up is old or bullshit. Nothing worth clicking on, no answers.

He can't stay in bed doing google searches on his phone forever, he needs to get up and get ready for camp, it's almost seven, he can hear Colin downstairs. It's almost five in Edmonton, which is still too early to call, but if he waits another half hour...

They had a late game last night. No one is going to be up at five thirty in the morning. No one is going to be up at six. John runs down the mental list of Oilers whose phone numbers he has, wondering who would be least likely to kill him for getting woken up.

He could just call Sam. Sam would definitely know what's going on. Sam doesn't mind how early John calls him, or how late. 

But if something happened Sam should be resting, and John wouldn't want to wake him. Calling anyone this early wouldn't just be impolite, it would be downright rude. He can wait a while longer, try searching using something with a keyboard that's bigger than his palm. He can be patient.

Sam said he's fine.

Jordan said Sam isn't lying.

John can choose to trust them. He can get ready for his day, and not freak out about what might be nothing. There isn't anything else that he can do.

It's quarter after seven when John actually hears what happened. He's showered, had breakfast, and is preparing for his day when Stammer texts him, "Did they save any of your boyfriend's teeth?" which....

John knows that Steven is a weirdo who keeps google alerts on his friends around the league, but hadn't thought of him as a potential resource. Like, it seems crazy that the state of Florida has two hockey teams, but right now Sam's grateful for anything that means he can get some answers from another earlier riser on the East coast.

John calls Stammer while trying to pick out a tie. Steven picks up on the first ring. He doesn't wait for John to say anything, he starts right in: "Do you think Sam’s gonna give his teeth to you? Like, in a jar or something. Or maybe get them set and put on a chain? That almost sounds romantic.”

John doesn’t know what to say to that.

"I have no idea what happened,” He tells Steven. “I woke up to texts telling me not to worry, which…” Clearly really didn’t work. How could a text saying not to worry possibly do anything other than make him worry more.

"Oh." Steven's actually a good friend, so he stops teasing and tells John everything he knows, which isn't much. "In the game last night Zack Kassian got his stick in Sam's face at the end of the second, knocked out a bunch of teeth. Sam didn't play in the third. Eakins said they're trying to track 'em down and stick 'em back in there, and that they don't know yet if it's anything else or just the chicklets. That's all I know."

John closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sure he's fine," Steven says. "I mean, he texted you, right? Which means he's as coherent as ever, yeah? He's hockey-tough, it'll be fine."

"Yeah," John agrees, because what else can he say. "He says he's fine, he's probably fine."

"Yeah, totally," Stammer echoes.

"I should go," John says. He does have to leave pretty soon, but mostly he doesn't want to be on the phone any longer. It's distracting him from worrying as much as he wants to.

"Okay," Steven says. "Oh, and happy belated birthday dude. Congrats."

"Yeah, thanks." John is twenty-three now. That should be old enough to know how much worry is the right amount of worry. John isn't more or less worried than before, but now his concerns have narrowed. 

They say goodbye, and now John is left alone with his thoughts about Sam's teeth. 

John is awfully fond of Sam's teeth, his whole mouth actually, which is necessary for kissing, and for other things. But he especially likes Sam's teeth. They're really straight and normal, almost perfect. John likes to make Sam smile, and he likes to make Sam bite him. If Sam's teeth were different, broken or gone, John would miss them.

John himself lost some teeth at the end of the summer. He took a puck to the face, and really, he was lucky that being down three teeth was as bad as it got, but he knows how not fun dentistry is. Maybe Stammer is wrong. Maybe the internet is wrong. Maybe the next time the Islanders play the Canucks John can punch Zack Kassian in the face.

That's a really bad idea. Kassian is a fighter in a way that John certainly isn't. John would probably get his ass kicked. And besides, Kassian hardly has any teeth left, so it's highly unlikely that John would get the satisfaction of making him lose a couple more. Still: what if he punched Zack Kassian in the face? It sounds satisfying.

John tries to channel his aggression into an energetic practice, then tries to ignore the incident entirely as they break down last night’s shutout loss to the Devils. It’s still the preseason, there weren’t any points on the line, but it was their first game in Brooklyn, and John wishes it had gone better. They were playing for pride, and hoping to kick things off in the new building on a good note. Instead they got shut out 3-0. And then his boyfriend got hit in the face with a high stick. The universe sure does know how to wish a guy a happy birthday.

It’s pretty clear that the team knows that something’s up. John suspects that Matt has been gossiping, but it means that no one asks about his mood, which is nice. People know he’s close with Sam. How close they think, John isn’t really sure. He hasn’t outright said anything, but he hasn’t specifically denied anything either. This is his team, he trusts them. He’s pretty sure the guys who have been around for a while have some idea. Or at least he gets four different people offering to go after Zack Kassian the next chance they get. He appreciates it, but tells them all not to bother. When they meet the Canucks it has to be about winning a hockey game, not anything else.

When he turns his phone back after practice on there’s a new text from Sam: “I’d call but my jaw’s broke. ((((((((( will be fine though, don’t worry about me.”

John decides to stop walking, because he’s trying to come across as a good captain, and tripping over his own feet would look bad. He leans against the wall and focuses on taking deep, even breaths. Kassian broke Sam’s jaw. In a preseason game that doesn’t matter. And now Sam’s jaw is broken, so he can’t even talk on the phone.

John just breaths, trying to remember that his anger is entirely useless, until he’s calm enough to drive home.

He keeps breathing as he makes lunch, and texts with Sam, who seems really positive and slightly incoherent. John can’t tell if that’s because of the medium, or because of the drugs, or if it’s actually how Sam feels. No matter how many times Sam says he’s fine, John doesn’t think he’ll believe it. He’s just going to accept all the less-than-three-hearts and Russian style smiles in the spirit they were intended, with love. 

Sam doesn’t want to Skype, which is fair. He’s doped up so good he can’t feel his face, and he shouldn’t be trying to talk, he doesn’t need John staring at him. 

Apparently all he wants is to doze and watch the weather channel. That’s according Ryan, who seems comfortable both playing nursemaid and reporting back to John, unprompted even. Ryan says he brought Sam a shake for dinner, and that they set Sam’s phone alarm for when he gets to take pills, and that it’s totally under control.

John almost believes him. He’s sure that Ryan’s trying, but he’s also sure he could do better if he was there.

Colin does a good job trying to distract him. He chirps John about how his absent-minded video game play is leading to losses. John can’t stop worrying completely, but trying to worry _and_ win means he worries a little bit less. Matt badgers him into coming over for dinner, and it isn’t as easy to worry when Mila wants him to pay attention to her. With his team’s help he gets through the day alright, but he doesn’t think he’s going to sleep very well.

He isn’t going wake up to another crisis; nothing bad is going to happen because he closes his eyes. The struggle is finding a way to live with the bad things that have already happened. Nothing is going to convince John that this wasn’t really terrible. It’s fucking horrible thing to have happen, there’s no real way of getting around that. And there isn’t anything John can do about it, no way for him to help.

He can send Sam flowers, or a card, or something, but that’s just a gesture. There’s no way he can make anything significantly better. The only things he can do are so little that they feel useless. He knows he’s going to do them anyway.

He really hates it, but the truth is he doesn’t get to fix everything. Sometimes he doesn’t even get to try. He can hate it, but he has to accept it.

He also has to sleep.

Not sleeping won’t change the fact that Sam has a broken jaw, that Sam’s in pain, that Sam’s thousands of miles away. If John had his way none of those things would be true. But there’s nothing he can do. All he can do is go to sleep, and wait for things to get better.

**Three Weeks Later**

John is half asleep when Sam calls him. It isn’t _that_ late, but he’s tired and well medicated. He headed straight to bed after the game, and has been lying down for maybe fifteen minutes when his phone goes off. It’s switched to _do not disturb_ , set to ignore all calls from all non-Sam people. Sometimes John fucking loves having a smartphone. It means he gets to hear his boyfriend yell at him when he should be sleeping.

“Hey,” John mumbles.

Sam doesn’t offer any greeting, but gets straight to it. “You pulled out your own tooth. Johnny — your tooth. _You pulled out your own tooth._ ”

“I know, I was there.”

Sam snorts. “Don’t be a smart ass.”

“Sorry.” John isn’t actually sorry. What he is is tired and maybe a bit stoned.

“There’s a gif,” Sam says, very seriously. “I watched a three second loop of you pulling your own tooth out until I felt sick.”

“Sammy, don’t do that, that’s no fun.”

“Is pulling your own tooth out fun?”

“No, it sucked. I’m fine though,” John tells him, almost sure that Sam won’t believe him.

Sam sighs. “You pulled your own tooth out. It was disgusting, and I hated it. Don’t do it again, alright?”

John sighs. “Remember how you just got your jaw broken? I think I have some idea how this feels.”

“Fuck,” Sam says. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just — I don’t like this.”

“Yeah, it sucks, but there’s nothing you can do.”

“I hate that,” Sam says.

“It’s basically the worst,” John agrees. “But it’s better to accept it and get a good night’s sleep. Sleeping is important. I’m very tired.”

“You should go to sleep,” Sam says.

“And you shouldn’t worry so much.” This is good advice; John should follow it himself.

“Yeah, well...probably.”

“It’s hard, not worrying,” John admits. “I’m bad at it. You should make me worry less.”

“I try,” Sam says.

“Yeah, well, you suck at it, but whatever. I’m not so good either, at being un-worrisome, or whatever.”

Sam doesn’t say anything to that; it’s the truth. Instead Sam says, “I love you.” That’s true too.

“Love you too,” John says, then yawns.

“Goodnight,” Sam says. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight,” John echoes. The call ends. He’s sad. He’s very tired, and half wishes he was asleep, but he’d rather be talking to Sammy. He’d always rather be talking to Sammy. But he can’t any longer, not tonight. He has to go to sleep. He drifts off poking at the space where his tooth used to be, worrying at its absence.

**Author's Note:**

> end notes: here’s the link to gif mentioned. pretty gross, eh? http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/nhl-puck-daddy/john-tavares-plays-amateur-dentist-pulls-own-tooth-015413102--nhl.html?
> 
> Thanks to Stellarer for betaing this, although she did do the last read through while sleep deprived. <3 <3 <3


End file.
